Inside the Snake's Lair
by thegoofybookworm
Summary: It's taken for granted that the Weasleys have all been lucky enough to get into Gryffindor together...but the Sorting Hat doesn't care about family. In a strange turn of events, Ginny finds herself in the most loathed house of all...Will she change the house, or will the house change her? Rated T for author paranoia...credit to Livia for the idea mistressamy
1. The Sorting Hat

_How interesting…A Weasley…Another one…_

I fidgeted silently on the stool, eyes shut so tightly I could see white spots in the darkness behind my eyelids. My fingers were absentmindedly twirling a lock of my fiery red hair as I awaited my final verdict. I counted the seconds in my mind, but for some reason I had the nagging feeling that it was taking longer than it had for anyone else. The Hat's voice echoed in my head as it contemplated all the aspects of me that would sort me into a house.

_You're the seventh one I've sorted…Seven's quite a lucky number, you know…It's also an odd number, did you see? Oh, but you did. You are quite clever, aren't you? Not so much a brave girl, no, not brave…_

My heart thudded against my chest nervously. _Not brave?_ All Gryffindors were brave! "I am brave!" I muttered as protest, though my small voice gave away all my doubts on the matter.

The Hat only laughed. _You're also a pureblood…Mind you, not all Hufflepuffs are purebloods…That wouldn't work either…_

I rolled my eyes impatiently, eager for the Hat to make its decision. How long would I be stranded in this limbo, where I belonged to no house and had no classmates? I hoped against hope that it would soon be over, but obviously that was not the Hat's plan.

_Ooh, well, someone's a bit impatient…Arrogant, if you ask me—yes, you thought you'd automatically be sorted into Gryffindor, didn't you? Because all your brothers got sorted into Gryffindor, that's it, isn't it? Ah, but you're not your brothers. You're the baby sister, the one who has to be protected…No, don't give me that, you know it's true…_

My hands clenched into fists, fingernails cutting into my palms. Yes, it was true. As the baby sister, all my brothers ever did was be protective of me. I was eleven! I could very well protect myself, thank you! Just because I was the only girl and my mother thought I absolutely needed to be babysat did not mean that I was this delicate little flower that couldn't do anything on her own.

_You want to be different, do you? To be the odd one out, the one Weasley that didn't have to be constantly watched? How will it feel, I wonder, to grow up to neither be as adventurous as Charlie, nor as perfect as Percy, nor as mischievous as Fred and George? _

By then I was vaguely aware of everyone looking at me curiously, wondering why the Hat was taking so long. In truth, it was saying all the right things. It would be cruel to have to be the shadow of all my brothers, not even being good at being bad, just being bad at everything. I couldn't even be known as the clumsy one, because that would be Ron!

_Arrogance! Power! I know exactly where you should go! Little Miss Odd Weasley, welcome to—_

"_SLYTHERIN!"_

My eyes burst open in surprise as I saw some Gryffindors exchange worried looks back and forth. Some members of the other houses were whispering to themselves, no doubt wondering why a Weasley would be sorted into a Slytherin, where obviously the family had a soiled reputation. I looked around, eager to catch Ron's or Harry's eye before being escorted off to the Slytherin table, but neither of them were to be found. Instead, my gaze landed on Hermione Granger, the bushy-haired girl who prided herself on being their best friend. Her shoulders were hunched forward over a book, but her eyes met mine, a pained expression across her face. _What is going on?_ she seemed to mouth, and I was about to answer—until I saw the obvious worry in her look. Suddenly I felt my gut clench and realized that this was exactly what I was trying to escape! Why was she so preoccupied? Being a Slytherin wasn't some sort of death sentence! In fact, hadn't Slytherin been winning the House Cup for quite a while? What was so bad about Slytherin house?

I steeled myself, not just against her pitying look but also against the predictable abuse I'd have to endure—for a while, at least—from my classmates. I gingerly lifted the Hat off my head, since nobody seemed to want to do it for me, and walked over to the Slytherin table, trying my best to hold my head up high. Then again, as the Hat so kindly pointed out, I was not brave. I've never been. I was only too terrified of what possible jeers would be cast my way once I reached the table, which I was approaching at an uncomfortably quick pace.

"The weasel's entered the snake house, eh?" called a particularly sour-faced blond boy with a pointed chin and a pale complexion. A girl with dark hair sitting next to him let out a shrill, high-pitched cackle as his icy blue eyes bore into mine, coated in what I can only describe as hatred. "Didn't you know that muggle-loving idiots might as well call their children 'mudbloods'? How the devil did you even get in this school?" I clenched my jaw immediately after he said mud…the filthy word. How many times had I heard my father complaining about the discrimination towards muggle-born wizards, and the use of that awful term?

"Malfoy, lay off her!" called an older, dark-skinned girl sitting a few people away from us. She must've been at least a fourth-year student, by the look of her. She turned to me apologetically, her hazel eyes pleading. "Welcome to Slytherin house, I'm Periwinkle Dotfrey. You are…Jennifer Wesley?"

"Ginevra Weasley," I corrected her timidly, glad that not everyone was as obviously thickheaded as that Malfoy character. Suddenly the name clicked into place in my mind, and I remembered why his face, so full of hatred, was familiar. His father—Lucius—was a pain to my own, constantly bullying him for being so interested in muggles. Honestly, I didn't understand why he believed he'd earned the right to bother my family so. He himself had a strange obsession with magical artifacts, specifically those related with dark magic, yet we didn't go around calling him a Death Eater! Why, then, did he think he should be allowed to call us 'mud…' the filthy word, in any case? "Nice to meet you, Periwinkle."

"Developing a soft spot for mudbloods, are we, Dotfrey?" sneered a bulky boy sitting near Malfoy. "Remember why you got put into Slytherin."

"Of course I remember!" Periwinkle replied, blushing as she wrinkled her nose, horrified at the comment. "I'm just _saying_, Ginny here is a perfectly good pureblood. I see no reason to bother her about being in Slytherin! _Obviously_ the Sorting Hat saw something we didn't—"

"Yes," interrupted the dark-haired girl next to Malfoy that had laughed earlier, "it's _obvious_ that whatever that batty old Hat sees in her is hidden _deep down_—" that brought out a ring of laughter from the nearby Slytherins "—or _obviously_ the Hat has lost its touch and doesn't know what it's doing anymore!"

"Just because your sister got sorted into Ravenclaw and you didn't, Pansy, _honestly_!" Periwinkle countered, crossing her arms defensively. "She got in because of her wits, while you relied on blood!"

"_Say that again, I DARE you_!" hissed the girl, Pansy, from across the table, leaning forward with her eyes narrowed dangerously. I shrank back into my seat, alarmed that I'd technically started the awful dispute. Sure, perhaps Periwinkle was already a bit individualized for taking kindly to new Slytherins despite their history, but I'd somehow—without saying anything but my name—begun this new argument.

"I was almost put into Ravenclaw," I managed to mutter miraculously, concentrating hard on not lifting my gaze from the table. Somehow, Pansy could hear me over the rabble of silverware scraping on the plates, and she tucked her wand back into her robes with a smug look on her face.

"See? Ginger Weasel here almost got put into Ravenclaw. That shows how smart you'd have to be to get in, now, doesn't it? Are you not going to bother _her_ about it?" she snapped, grabbing an apple from one of the baskets that had magically appeared. I realized in horror that I'd missed Professor Dumbledore's entire speech! I looked around frantically, hoping that he hadn't given any instructions on how to eat, or something of the sort, before taking time to process the food popping up on the golden plates set at the center of the table.

"Dig in," Periwinkle said, smiling and winking at me while gesturing towards the food with her fork. "It's a…how do muggles call it…an 'all you can eat' dinner."

"I'd go easy on the carrots," Pansy commented in a low voice, so quietly that I doubted anyone else could hear. "You eat any more orange, your bloody hair will set on fire."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my very, very, very first Harry Potter fanfiction (because I've recently read the books…I know, bad me…and I haven't even read the last one!) Anyways, tell me if you liked it! (: The idea goes to my friend Livia who came up with the thought of Ginny being sorted into another house, which I thought was brilliant! Please read & review, thank you!**

**As for my other fanfics, I'll try to update soon!**

**-TGBW**


	2. Periwinkle's Intenions

"Ginny!"

Ron's voice echoed through the hall as I pushed past people to get up to the common room. Though Periwinkle had been nice enough to welcome me to Slytherin house while we were down in the dining hall, I was completely on my own going down to the dungeons, guided only by the black robes with the dark emerald ties. In my head, I kept repeating the password to tell the alchemist in the moving painting. _Pumpernickel, pumpernickel, pumpernickel,_ I chanted, weaving my way through slower students. A hand landed on my shoulder and yanked me back, and I collided into my brother.

"Ron!" I cried, slapping his arm away. "What is your _problem_?"

"You got sorted into Slytherin is my problem!" he yelled back, pulling me to the side of the hall away from the throngs of people passing through. We stopped by a knight's armor, and I could've sworn I saw it turn its head in interest when we walked by.

"_What_?" I demanded, scandalized. First of all, why was he looking at me as if it were my fault that the Hat thought I'd be a better Slytherin than a Gryffindor? It wasn't as if I asked to be Slytherin! It was either that or Ravenclaw, and honestly I didn't feel too clever so as to being a Ravenclaw. Second of all, what business of his was it, anyway? He had just as much control over the matter as I did! So what if I was a Slytherin? It just happened, and now I'd spend seven years there because of it. I'd just have to deal with it, and so would he! "Ron, it's not _my fault_!"

"But—Gryffindor! That's where you were supposed to go!" he shouted, causing several heads to turn our way. My typically pale freckled face flushed a bright red as I cast my gaze downwards, hoping none of my housemates had heard him.

"How'd you even hear about it?" I asked quietly, still avoiding his eyes. "You weren't at the sorting. You weren't…there."

His eyes widened with sad understanding as he realized exactly what I meant. "Gin, I wanted to be there for you, I really did, but Harry and I got into a bit of a disaster with Dad's car and the Womping—"

"Wait, wait, wait," I interrupted, looking aghast at what he'd begun to say. "You messed with _Dad's car_? And you have the…the _nerve_ to bother me for getting into Slytherin, something I have _no control_ over?" I took a step backwards as something clicked inside my mind, and I realized what this could mean if the Ministry found out anything magical about Dad's car. "Blimey, Ron, do you have any idea how much trouble he could get into for—" I caught myself, and lowered my voice just in time. "For having a _flying car_?"

Ron's face paled, which is saying something since his face is usually pretty white. "Ginny, you don't think…" His voice trailed off as his eyes widened, presumably realizing just what his actions could cause. Then his eyebrows furrowed together and he turned back to me, fire in his green eyes. "Now, don't you turn this around on me! It's not my fault that some stupid bloke closed the barrier onto the platform, alright? And it's not my fault you got sorted into Slyth—"

"Yeah, well, _it's not my fault either_!" I screamed at him. Then, with a flourish worthy of Lucius Malfoy himself, I stalked away, my black wizard robes billowing behind me as I made my way down the stairs to the dungeons.

Ahead of me, I could just see a group of Slytherins clambering down the steps, talking obnoxiously loudly about their luxurious summer vacations. In the typical venomous voice of his, Draco was saying, "Naturally, there were some guards asking how we'd simply appeared at the top of the Eiffel Tower, but my father, you know, from the Ministry, he settled it."

"With magic?" asked Pansy, sounding incredibly interested in his story.

Draco scoffed. "Not with magic, you silly twit! He would've gotten in trouble! No, it was the muggles' version of magic—money. That's right, the guard _didn't remember anything_," he told her with a wink, still looking a little miffed about the suggestion that his father had done magic in front of a muggle. "Pansy, _please_, everyone knows you can't do magic in front of muggles! Well, _almost_ everyone!" he added, drawling the second word out as he snuck a look over his shoulder right at me. I felt my face flush once again at the reference, sure that Ron would at least be getting a Howler to make up for his blatant disregard of rules.

"Ginny!" called a voice from behind me. I turned around just in time to see Periwinkle Dotfrey skipping down the steps towards me, looking relieved. "Thank Merlin I've found you! I was worried sick that you'd gotten lost!"

My eyebrows furrowed together, confused. What did she care if I'd gotten lost, anyways? She hadn't offered to take me to the dorm, so obviously I'd be more likely to get lost. She clearly hadn't been too 'worried sick' about it! Her mouth opened slightly as her mind made a connection that mine didn't.

"_Parkinson_," she hissed, annoyed, as she linked her arm with mine by the elbow and dragged me forward, slowing down only slightly to say "Pumpernickel" to the alchemist in the painting. Once we got through the security, we bounced down another set of stairs to get to the girls' dorms.

"You _liar_!" she cried, walking over to where Pansy had been talking to one of her friends with dark brown hair. "You said you'd take her down here!"

"Correction," Pansy replied, not even flinching even though Periwinkle was bending over her, practically shouting into her ear. "I said I'd _make sure_ she got here. And," she added as an afterthought, pointing at me nonchalantly, "she's here. Isn't she?"

The other girl smirked up at Periwinkle, who drew out her wand and pointed it at her threateningly. "I reversed that jinx that sewed your lips shut, Skylar, and I'd gladly un-reverse it." As if Periwinkle had actually done it, Skylar's lips immediately pressed together and she didn't say anything until the older girl was by my side.

"Merlin's beard, I'm so sorry, Ginny!" she apologized, leading me over to a nearby tea table with a couple of chairs positioned across from each other. "That Pansy Parkinson is a person to look out for, I'll tell you that much!"

"Yes, thank you," I answered softly, looking around the dorm. It was in the shape of a doughnut, with the center being the spiral staircase. The table where we were then sitting was in between a few beds, as, predictably, was the table across the doughnut. In my mind, I counted about 6 beds, but then again this was just the sixth floor down, where all the second years would be. The bottom floor, just one flight down, would be where I would have to sleep. I wrung my hands nervously, anxious as to whom I'd be sharing the floor with.

"Ginevra," Periwinkle sighed, obviously having caught my look of despair, "don't you worry. You're not the only first year here, and not everyone is as bloody miserable as Malfoy, Crabbe, Pansy and Skylar. You'll do just fine on your own, trust me!" Her encouraging words sent my spirits soaring and I beamed at her, glad that someone was on my side—whatever 'my side' meant. Then I was brought back to reality with a thud as Periwinkle continued, "Especially once you show Marcus what you can do!"

I tilted my head to the side, confused as to the sudden change of topic. Who was Marcus, and why would I be showing him what I can do? I asked her so, but she merely laughed and waved it off. "Marcus Flint, our—oh, no, haven't they told you about Quidditch?"

I rolled my eyes at such a dumb question. Who didn't know what Quidditch was? Seriously, my father may have been obsessed with muggles, but that didn't mean that we were obscure as to wizarding sports! "No, I know what Quidditch is. I play all the time during vacations with my brothers."

Periwinkle's eyes glistened and her smile broadened, and she all but stood up and cheered. "Brilliant! Fred and George are _such_ excellent Beaters! Surely you must be good at Quidditch too!"

"Yes—well, erm, no—I'm alright—Periwinkle, who is Marcus and what does this have to do with anything?" I demanded, eager to get a word in. She was still ranting about how, if I play with my brothers, I must be the greatest female player alive.

"Marcus Flint is our team captain for the second year in a row. Hell, we were counting on someone good to turn up in Slytherin, but a _Weasley_! Merlin, that's a blessing!" she stated confidently, grabbing both my shoulders in a secure grip that I guess was meant to be reassuring.

Suddenly it all made sense: Periwinkle's eagerness at introducing me into the house, her getting all defensive when Draco started in on me, worried that I wouldn't show up to the dorm on time, risking possible detention and house points. It wasn't kindness at all, maybe, but cold, calculated tactics to make me feel as comfortable as possible before handing me over to the team. Like primping up a pig for slaughter. Cunning Slytherin, indeed.

Then I saw a small flaw in her plan. "But, Periwinkle," I commented shyly, innocently, "I'm just a first year. Aren't I not allowed on the team, much less with my own broomstick?"

"Yes, yes, well," she answered, slightly flustered, "last year Potter was made an exception to the rules, as I'm sure you will be, too!"

Hearing Harry's name sent butterflies soaring in my stomach. Ron was always only too keen on discussing Harry's amazing, undeniable, natural-born talent on the broom, saying he was the best Gryffindor Seeker in years. What would I possibly be, compared to him? Blimey, if I fell off my broomstick… "I don't know, Periwinkle, it seems kind of intimi—"

"Don't your worry your first year little brains!" she chimed, waving her wand around and sending vapor Snitches up into the air. "Marcus Flint will have you in top-notch flying shape in no time, you just wait!"

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for reading and following and fave'ing and…just being awesome people in general! Review and tell me what you thought about Periwinkle's "plan" to get on Ginny's good side, please? (: Also just whatever you thought about the chapter, or about the story as a whole, or what should go next…or if you want to tell me about your weekend, that's cool too (: **

**-TGBW**


	3. The New Slytherin Mascot

"…rented it from five to nine, so all you whiny gits have enough time to scarf down some food, Merlin knows you don't need it…" Marcus Flint's voice echoed loudly throughout the Quidditch field, undoubtedly loudened by a spell on his throat of some sorts. My palms began to sweat as I slowed my pace, letting Periwinkle walk in front of me. I felt ridiculous, wearing a green uniform quite a few sizes too big.

"Don't you worry," Periwinkle had assured me before leading me out of the school onto the fields, "it fits perfectly. And once you're on the team, we'll have it fixed for you!" She seemed oddly optimistic as she marched down by the bleachers, where Marcus and the rest of the team—plus one, I suppose—were gathered, discussing.

"I honestly don't know what you want me to do, Montague, I'm not going to _ask_ Dumbledore to let us have dinner later, do _you_ want to ask Dumbledore to let us have dinner later? Shut it, Pucey, stop complaining. It's four hours, I think we'll survive!" he boomed. By the sound of it, he was annoyed because all of the teammates were voicing their thoughts on the new late practice schedules—or, at least that was what Periwinkle conveyed to me.

Periwinkle sensed my hesitation upon arriving to the circle of players, and once again linked her arm in mine. "It's alright," she whispered, beaming up at Marcus Flint. "Marcus!" she greeted, extending her arms for a hug. He smiled back and kissed her lightly on the cheek in lieu of a verbal greeting, then turned to me with an interested raised eyebrow. Periwinkle saw this and explained, "This is Jen—er, Ginevra Weasley. We were thinking that she would be a brilliant addition to the team, weren't we, Ginny?" She looked over at me expectantly.

"Uhh…" I muttered unsurely. What was I supposed to say? _Hi, I'm a first year, also a Weasley—whom I'm pretty sure you despise—and I'd love to be the exception of the first year Quidditch rule for this team, even though I've only ever played inexpertly in my backyard with my brothers!_

Marcus seemed to side with me a bit on this discussion, staring at Periwinkle as if she'd properly lost her mind. "But…she is a first year!" he protested, trying to keep his voice low, so as to not have the other Slytherins overhear our conversation. "And she's a _blood_—" Periwinkle shot him a warning glare, and he shut his mouth, his teeth clamping together. I looked fearfully from one to the other, left to wonder what he was going to say that would've been so terrible.

"Potter was also a first year," she snapped impatiently, "and I don't see what other choice we have. The least you could do, really, is get her up on a broom and let her show you what she can do!"

"Does she even know how to mount a broom?" he demanded, just as frustrated with her as she was with him. I stood by staring, incredulous as to how he was just pretending that I wasn't there, hearing everything he said and, therefore, perfectly eligible to answer his questions.

"Well…" Periwinkle's voice trailed off nervously and she turned to look at me, waiting for an answer. I gave her an almost imperceptible nod of the head, which seemed to be enough reassurance for her. "Yes. Yes, she knows. And," she pointed out, glancing at me apologetically, "she could answer your questions too."

"Right, of course," he replied, flustered, looking at me again but this time without the dubious look on his face. "Now, Ginny, it would be great to see your skill, but I really do need to get on with the announcements now," he told me, excusing himself. He turned back to the team.

"Now, my last statement, team: As you've all noticed, we've been given a generous gift. Seven new Nimbus 2001 broomsticks!" A round of whooping rose from the players, all looking at their new brooms appreciatively. Marcus waved for them to settle down, and then continued, "You're all probably wondering who is the grand donator, aren't you? Now, he, of course, is—"

"Good evening!" Draco called out, making his way down the field towards them. I stood, awestruck, seeing him in his black robes trailing behind him. What was he doing here? I'd understood that there were no free spaces on the team, and, in Periwinkle's opinion, it wouldn't hurt for me to be an extra. "Flying rather late, are we?"

"Okay, Flint," a tall, older guy called out to the captain, looking at Draco in annoyance, "what the hell is Malfoy doing down here? Shouldn't he be upstairs counting his money?"

"Watch it!" hissed Draco, glaring coldly at the guy. "I can take away that lovely broom of yours, Bletchley!"

"Alright, team," Marcus interrupted, holding out his arms to space out Draco from Bletchley. "Let me introduce you to our newest member of the team—" my heart pounded in my ears, panicking, because I hadn't known that I'd be accepted so quickly "—Draco Malfoy."

"_What?_" Angry, confused jeers erupted from all throughout the field as the teammates stared at Draco, utterly incredulous at the fact that he'd soon be their new team member.

"Did he even try out?" another team member jeered, getting a respectable rise out of well over half the team. I could see, as could Periwinkle probably, that Marcus hadn't been prepared for his team to jump to that conclusion so quickly.

But, much like any other Slytherin, he was swift to recover. "Honestly, a second year requires _much_ more than just a tryout"—this earned him an insulted "Hey!" from Draco's part—"but yes, he did. And he will have extra training sessions so as to catch up to our skills and standards." This seemed to placate the majority of the players, who simply fell back onto their brooms and took to the sky once more.

Now, Marcus turned to me, eyeing me suspiciously. "You're a Weasley, then, eh?" he asked softly, as if he didn't want Draco—who was leaning surprisingly close to overhear our conversation—to eavesdrop. I nodded politely, too terrified of providing much testimony when I knew Periwinkle could just as easily have my back. "Oh, alright!" he whined, defeated, as Periwinkle beamed at me triumphantly. He suddenly waved a nagging finger at me, then turned and did the same gesture towards Draco. "But you two are to show up for _every_ extra practice session, up until the end of the year, so you've caught up!"

"_She's_ part of the team now, Flint?" demanded Draco, walking over to us furiously. His typically pale face was red now with anger, his eyes filled with fire; yet his mouth was twitched into a smirk. "What, are weasels the Slytherin mascots now? Oh, Slytherin has really gone to the—"

"Malfoy, shut your mouth!" Marcus hissed at him, storming over. Was it just me, or had Draco actually cowered slightly in fear? "Ginny is a Slytherin, whether you like it or not! She is a pureblood, and, by what I hear, a respectable Quidditch player! Unless you'd like to reverse your roles of Seeker and substitute, then I suggest you allow the upper classmen to handle this situation!" He looked towards the school, closed his eyes and extended his hand, muttering, "_Accio rationarium!_" I closed my eyes and flinched, only hoping that whatever he was calling for wouldn't knock me over.

Once my eyes were open after the attack never came, I glanced around, searching for a _rationarium_—which turned out to be just a piece of parchment. Marcus was waving a quill around, occasionally commenting to Periwinkle about the paper, and Periwinkle was replying to him in an equally calculating voice. "…that won't work, she's got Potions on…"

"…but there's not enough time to train them separately, so if…"

"…trying to help, _honest_, if you would _just listen_…"

Finally, after much conferring while Draco and I made it a point not to look at each other, Periwinkle and Marcus looked up from the paper. "Alright, you are both to come down to the fields on Thursdays…mornings," Marcus called out to us. Draco immediately opened his mouth to protest, but Marcus smoothly intervened. "_If_," he said loudly, drowning out Draco's whine, "either one of you fail to come to a single session, your position in the Slytherin team will be seriously reconsidered. Now, if you'll excuse me." With that, he too mounted his broomstick and shot upwards, leaving us in an extremely awkward triangle.

"Okay," I broke the silence uncomfortably, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I turned to Draco nervously, wondering how he'd take it. "I think on Thursdays I've got Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, so shall we just meet outside on the—"

"Shut up, blood traitor," Draco muttered viciously, rolling his eyes as he stalked off in the direction of the school.

. . . . .

My acceptance into Slytherin was going remarkably well, aside from the fact that Draco seemed to be spending less time staying on his broom than making sure I didn't. The first year girl Slytherins were kind to me, probably because they were new as well and had no true grounds to go on that I was undeserving of my position (both on the team and in the house). Periwinkle and some of her friends, Quincy Luftstone and Safya Hydgarden, were also being comfortably friendly, always making an effort to include me in nightly games in the common rooms, or even conversations in the dining hall that both concerned and—if you minded what Draco said—didn't concern me.

The only fault in this fantastic turn of events was the fact that I didn't get to play. On the first, and, so far, only Slytherin game—which so happened to be against Gryffindor—Draco had been perfectly healthy, as had everyone else, so I did nothing more than sit on the sidelines, squashed in between Periwinkle and Quincy and their obnoxiously loud conversation, clad in green and black and cheering along with the other Slytherins, all the while secretly rooting for Gryffindor and gasping sharply with delight once Harry caught the Snitch.

"Whose side are you _on_?" snapped Draco once we were out of earshot. I jumped at his harsh voice; I hadn't seen him approach me as I'd stood on my tiptoes, away from the Slytherin crowd, hoping I'd get a chance to catch Harry, Hermione, or even Ron's eye before being ushered back into the dungeons.

"What do—I don't under—what do you mean?" I blushed, utterly flustered. How had Draco been able to tell? Was I _that_ obvious? If so…why had he been paying attention to me in the first place, anyways?

"Well," he reasoned, annoyed by then, "I saw a flash of orange on the stands when the Snitch was caught." He spat out the last half of that sentence, as if he was being held at wandpoint to admit his loss. "And when I realized that the bleachers hadn't caught on fire"—this caused me to roll my eyes—"nor had a tomato abruptly ripened among its vines"—alright, okay, that one was creative—"I knew it was you, standing up from the excitement." His glare at me felt like a thousand Avadas straight from the Slytherin team, one which I was supposed to belong to.

"Oh, Draco, you won't say any—" I began, but he glowered at me disgustedly.

"I'll say whatever I want!" he snapped with his steely voice, an octave lower than anything he'd said before. "And I'll say _this_: you might as well stop celebrating that Gryffindor you're so smitten with. I've seen him in the same way celebrating Ravenclaw." Suddenly the corners of his mouth twitched upwards as he realized that his comment had struck me. Ravenclaw? Why on earth would Harry celebrate them? Or…why on earth would Harry celebrate _her_? And who was _she_?

"Oh, and one last thing," he added, his voice colder—if possible—than before. He marched up to me, close enough so that I could have easily spat in his face if I tried, and sneered, "Don't you _ever_ call me Draco again."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: OH THE REVIEWS. I am not worthy! But thank you all so, so much for reading and being patient with this little story of mine. (: Anyways, this chapter involved not one, but two scenes, because you've all been waiting almost a week for me to update (my apologies…extended even through to my other fanfictions! Whoops!)**

**I think next chapter will be a certain Malfoy's POV… BUT I will have to charge for this because I'm not sure if it's a good idea…or even if the whole story is good…So I think I'll be hoping for at least four more reviews? **_**Then**_** you will get your Draco chapter, which I am looking forward to! **

**Love,**

**TGBW**


	4. Incendio

**Draco**

It was the third time that blood traitor was late for Quidditch private practice, and I was starting to become more and more impatient. If she didn't show up on time, I knew Flint would only take it out on me! What was she doing anyway? Probably going after Potter, maybe trying to sneak into the Gryffindor common room. It sickened me to think how much more time she spent with that weasel and that Mudblood, than she did with actual Slytherins like her fellow first years, whatever their names were. Even that arse Dotfrey would've been better company than the losers in the Gryffindor house!

"What took you so damn long?" I demanded once Weasley innocently stepped onto the fields, still trying to maneuver her oversized uniform. She stared at me in stunned silence, as if amazed that I'd asked her such a question. "Well?"

"I…I was just…" she blubbered incoherently, floundering about for an excuse. Oh, how her lack of confidence disgusted me. Yet another reason why I seriously doubted the Sorting Hat's decision of throwing her into Slytherin, where, I'll be the first to admit, we were so superficially arrogant. "Hermione was asking if—"

"Oh, bloody Merlin!" I groaned, shutting my eyes to block out the ginger from my vision. "Must that wretched mudblood pop up in every one of our conversations?" Suddenly I realized my poor word choice and backtracked. "Erm, I mean…every one of our _arguments_?"

She glared at me, mirroring the hatred in her eyes that I so often saw in mine, and hissed, "_Don't call her that._"

"What, mudblood?" I asked tauntingly, glad to have grasped something that made her feel uncomfortable. "Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood. It should be No-Blood, as in they're _dead_!" I knew I was probably overstepping there, but I was only stating what everyone was too kind to admit.

"Shut up, Draco, you little—" she growled, reaching into her robes. Thankfully at that moment, Marcus Flint marched out of nowhere, holding the Nimbus 2001 that my father so kindly paid for.

Flint looked from one to the other, and that apparently was enough to show that something was amiss. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, expecting an explanation as to the mutual hostility between us; unfortunately for him, neither one of us replied. He sighed, frustrated, and laid his broom on the ground. "Alright, you lot. Today we practice diving."

Twenty minutes into the practice, Flint deemed us ready to begin practical diving rather than theoretical. The ginger was the first one on her broom, seeing as she'd had more hands-on experience—however mediocre—than I had. She took to the sky, her fiery red hair bursting into flames off the back of her head. Oh, how I wished those were real. Not to kill her, maybe, just to set fire to her hair, watch her burn as she flew around frantically trying to put it off.

As if on cue, a black trail of smoke started following her, and soon enough she was screaming hysterically, headed down towards the ground. Flint looked up, panicked, as did I, wondering, _Did I say something out loud? Hell, I didn't even have my wand with me!_

The broom collided into the ground, and Weasley was thrown off it, tumbling slowly onto the ground as tears streaked her cheeks. "Put it out, put it out!" she screeched, swatting at her head. I watched in horror as the tip of her hair began to blacken, and suddenly Flint turned to me. I was sure I'd been caught—doing what, I have no idea to this day.

"Well? Don't just stand there, you fool, go get Madame Pomfrey!" he shouted, trying to make himself heard over the ginger's cries of agony. I nodded wordlessly and mounted my broom, careless as to whether or not I'd be allowed to fly. I knew I'd probably get kicked off the Quidditch team if I let anything happen to Weasley. Even worse, Flint might start to suspect that I'd cast a—oh, what do you call them?—nonverbal spell, or something! I'd get expelled, or suspended at the very least! _Then_ what would father say? It was enough for him trying to sabotage Weasley at the Ministry; the last thing he needed was my public interference with their family at school!

Because it was morning, and early at that, there were very few students crowding the corridors, only making it easier for me to maneuver myself through the hallways, keeping both hands glued onto the broomstick. I might've passed Filch once or twice, or his evil cat, but I paid no attention as I headed straight for the nurse's ward.

"Madame Pomfrey, Madame Pomfrey!" I called, out of breath from flying. It was always exhilarating when I sped on the Nimbus 2001—now, however, I'd added to the thrill the fact that my father would probably hex me senseless if I let anything happen to that blood traitor. "Weasley…in the fields…"

Potter, who up until now had been resting his head on his pillow nearby, unseen by myself, suddenly sat up, ignoring the nurse's instructions to calm down onto the bed. "What did you do to her, Malfoy?" he demanded angrily, propping himself up on his good arm. If I hadn't been freaking out under the threat of my father, I would've even laughed at the pathetic situation he found himself in. Now, however, I was just anxious to get Madame Pomfrey away towards the girl, angry all over again as the rush of adrenaline caught up to me.

"Nothing, _Potter_!" I spat out, fighting hard to catch my breath. Madame Pomfrey studied my eyes, as if trying to make up her mind of whether or not I was telling the truth. I glared at her viciously, trying to show that I was being totally honest. "Madame Pomfrey, I assure you, you can give me a week's worth of detention"—because let's be honest, Ginger Weasel was hardly worth more than that—"if I turn out to be playing a joke, but Flint really needs you out there!" This caught her attention: Flint was one of the best-looking guys (of which I was included, of course) and therefore all the female professors and staff had somewhat of a soft spot for him.

"Umm…" she muttered hesitantly, glancing from myself to Potter. I huffed impatiently; that seemed to be enough for her. "All right, Mr. Malfoy, but you had better be telling the truth, because Mr. Potter really needs his treatment!" I sneered at him as he scowled, but quickly turned and led Madame Pomfrey out onto the fields. It took my mind a second to realize that she'd called me Mr. Malfoy, something I'd only heard people call my father. Even our house elf, Dobby—who had mysteriously vanished during the summer, might I add—was under strict orders of referring to myself as Mister Draco.

It wasn't hard to find the exact spot where Flint was nursing the blood traitor, as all we had to do was follow the smoke spiraling upwards in the chilly autumn air. With tremulous hands, I stepped onto the fields, followed by Madame Pomfrey, who seemed to finally have registered the urgency of the situation as she quickened her pace and arrived to the site moments before I did.

"Oh, dear Merlin!" she cried, taking her wand and cradling Weasley's head on her lap. She looked up at Flint. "What in heaven's name has happened?"

Flint shot me a suspicious look, which I quickly deflected by avoiding his eyes and turning to the nurse. "She was flying on her broom, and her hair caught on fire!" I told her urgently.

It looked as though she was about to say something, but then stopped and changed her mind. "What do you mean, _flying on her broom_? Are first years all of a sudden permitted to own their own brooms, much less ride on them outside of class?"

"Err…" Flint stammered, trying to justify the extra Quidditch lessons she wasn't even supposed to be having. I walked over to her side and stared; her robes were soaked through, as if the captain had put out the fire by using the Aguamenti spell. She was unconscious, or frozen, or perhaps both. Her eyes were closed, the fringes of her robes slightly muddy from the wet ground. Some of her hair remained intact; the vast majority, however, was thoroughly singed. She'd probably need some sort of unknown charm (at least unknown to myself) to grow it out or repair it. The skin on her scalp was somewhat reddened, but the rest was just fine. I immediately felt bad, for no reason! I looked around, wondering who might've hexed her with this, but there was nobody around.

_Well, maybe if she hadn't been showing off so much!_ a part of me grumbled within, as I shut my eyes to get away from the somewhat gruesome site. Madame Pomfrey was now muttering an enchantment that repaired her skin, but the girl barely stirred in the nurse's arms. Meanwhile Flinch was storming my way, although I had no idea until he seized my arm and dragged me off to the side.

"I'll ask this once, and once _only_," he muttered furiously, staring daggers into my eyes as I widened them in fright. "Is this _your_ doing, Malfoy?"

"What? No!" I sputtered indignantly, trying to maintain eye contact. Yes, she was a pathetic little blood traitor, but I would never tarnish my reputation by sinking to a level as low as to hex her while she was defenseless. "I don't even have my wand with me!"

"There are wandless spells, Malfoy, and if I figure out _you _did this…" His voice trailed off, nostrils flaring. I looked over at the girl, then back at Flint, wondering what he wanted me to do. I was twelve, for Merlin's sake! I had no idea what to do! What the devil was a wandless spell, anyway? I barely knew how to cast a normal spell!

"What am I supposed to do, Flint?" I asked, a bit too defensively. He studied me, as if daring me to confess—what, I don't know—and then relented, letting go of my arm. I rubbed it cautiously; he was certainly strong for his age.

"You're going to fix this, dammit!"

. . . . .

After Potions, as all the Slytherins and Gryffindors were practically climbing all over each other to get out of Snape's classroom, I heard his voice, low and stone cold, drawling above the rabble. "Mr. Malfoy, a word?"

I hardly expected it to be intended as a question, so I motioned Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy to go ahead, mouthing to them that I'd catch up later. Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other stupidly—dear Merlin, those two wouldn't find the loo if it wasn't for me—and Pansy just whimpered, lingering behind until Snape shut the door with a flick of his wand. I turned to him, trembling slightly, wondering what he needed from me.

"Mr. Malfoy, congratulations on your new spot on the Quidditch team," he told me evasively, as he slowly paced around the table before me. I slumped my shoulders forward, staring hard at the wooden table. I figured that someone would take the job of blaming me!

"I didn't do it," I mumbled, careful to not make it sound arrogant, rather a bit more defeated. I knew bigheadedness really got to Snape, for some reason.

"Liar!" he hissed, threatening me with his wand pointed in my direction. "You've done quite an advanced hex for your year, Mr. Malfoy." He tucked his wand back into his robes and resumed his incessant pacing, coming nearer and nearer to my table. "A wandless, nonverbal spell. See, and here your father was afraid I'd have to recommend special classes for you. Remedial, if you will," he sneered, looking at me from under his greasy black hair.

My cheeks flushed with heat as I realized what he was saying. "Firstly, Professor, my father would have no such thing!" I snapped half-heartedly. In truth, I knew my father would rather have a son in remedial classes than a son in the bottom of the class. "Secondly, I didn't do it, and thirdly, even _if_ I did do it, what does it mean?"

Snape remained so quiet for a while that I was afraid he hadn't heard me the first time around. Then, as I gathered breath to repeat myself, he said in a quiet, but cold, voice, "A wandless, nonverbal Incendio, conjured only by will. He must hear about this…yes, surely he suspects…"

My palms grew sweatier, my limbs shakier, as I tried to piece his mumbling together. Who was 'he', and why would he suspect anything? But Snape looked up at me with wide, terrified eyes, a look which I'd neither seen nor wanted to see ever again on his face. I decided just not to mention the fact that I could hear him 'muttering' from across the table.

"This is very dark magic, Mr. Malfoy," he began what I felt would be a painfully long and dreadful lecture, "which likes have not been seen since… You could get into much trouble with the Ministry, boy." His glare at me felt like trouble enough already, but again I chose to hold my tongue. My eyes, however, gave away the question I didn't dare ask.

"Naturally, to deflect the blame," Snape continued, interlacing his fingers on the tabletop, "you must cast it on another. Now, Flint is obviously not an option, as he will immediately point back to you. But think, Mr. Malfoy. Whom do you wish to bear the responsibility, the burden, of your misdeeds?"

I looked up at him, finally meeting his beady black eyes, and an understanding passed between us. _Potter._ But there was still the matter of the Weasel being in love or whatever with him, and I knew for a fact she would not simply let him suffer for whatever I did (or didn't, as is the case) do. "But, sir, the girl—"

"Is a _girl_," he finished off for me. "Who will be foolish enough to fall into any boy's open arms."

My mouth opened slightly as I realized what he was trying to get me to do. Get with the Weasel, blame Potter, be innocent. But I was _twelve_. _Twelve!_ What the hell was I supposed to do, get her some chocolate frogs on Valentine's Day? As if he could read my mind, Snape explained, "Puppy love, Mr. Malfoy. It's the charmer of young children, and might later even lead to grownup love as well. This, of course, would be just to absolve you of the blame. Once the matter has blown over, you may feel free to get out of the deal."

"And if I refuse?" I asked defiantly, raising my chin towards him in lieu of a full-on challenge.

He abruptly turned to me, planting himself on the desk and leaning forward menacingly. "If you refuse," he hissed, venom nearly audible in his voice, "I shall expose you as the filthy rich, spoiled liar that you really are."

My gut fell to the dungeons as I processed what this meant: undetermined time as the ginger's puppy lover, or punishment beyond belief.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yay, I did it! AND YOU GUYS, OH MY GOD, ARE AMAZING. I ASK FOR 4 REVIEWS AND GET 8. Anyways, this chapter was really fun to write! Although I am truly sorry if it was OOC at all, twelve-year-old Draco is tough to decipher! Made the chapter twice the length of the usual because y'all do deserve it! **

**I'm going to go ahead and hope for…mm…5 reviews this time maybe? Because I love you guys so much and want to hear what you want to say! I'll try to update soon but I really should get started on my summer reading!**

**Love,**

**TGBW**

**[edit] Okay I know this is a tough chapter to swallow but I had to do something with dark magic, besides it'll add an interesting Draco/Ginny argument next chapter. **


	5. House Unity

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: You'll never see me do this again (I'm talking about the reply to the review, and to the A/N before the chapter), but this was just too good to pass up.**

**A few days ago, I received a truly amazing review. Before I tell you what it was, or why I'm mentioning it, you should know that I don't mean it in a good way. Honestly though, it kind of made me smile, because someone had taken the time to read my "horendous" story and even post a review about it…**_**off anon**_**. That's what made me smile, and I would like to say this to any mean anonymous reviewer out there (thankfully I don't think I have one): if you are going to criticize, put down, or insult a story, at least have the dignity to show yourself. I can't even be mad about that review, really I can't; it contains too many mistakes for me to not pity it. It's…kind of endearing, really.**

**Anyway, now that that's out of the way, here is chapter five. **

All I was aware of was an ice-cold tingling on the back of my neck as I opened my eyes, propping myself up on my elbows. I was momentarily puzzled: how had I ended up in the infirmary? And…and why was I still wearing the Quidditch uniform?

Somewhere near the bed I was currently laying on, there was a movement, and suddenly six faces popped into my line of sight: Periwinkle, Hermione, Ron, George, Fred…and Harry. My brown eyes burst open, and I whipped my head wildly from one side to the other in confusion. The movement seemed lighter, somehow, than it usually did when I turned my head. With tremulous, ginger hands, I cautiously reached to my scalp, blurry memories resurfacing in my mind as I shut my eyes, terrified of what my fingers would find. Broken, singed fringes of my hair caught themselves onto my fingertips, and I took in a sharp breath as I realized, shocked, that my hair felt quite a bit shorter than usual. I looked around at my friends and my brothers, panicking and desperate to remember exactly what happened before I spiraled towards the ground.

"What…my hair…" I stuttered, blinking rapidly at Periwinkle and Hermione, the only people I knew for a fact would understand what was so significant about my hair. I eyed Periwinkle's long, black curls, pulled into a ponytail to the side of her head. Hermione's equally, if not more so, long brown tresses, as unruly as ever, lay on either side of her neck, cascading down her shoulders. Even though I'd only just found my hair to be short, I already sort of missed it.

I know. Girl problems.

"Oh, Ginny," Hermione told me sadly, reaching across to the night table and handing me a mirror. "Don't worry, you look so pretty like that," she told me reassuringly, gripping my shoulder with confidence as I turned the mirror and looked at myself. My hair was definitely shorter, the tips, an alarmingly dark brown, reaching just below my ears…in some places. I could tell my hair hadn't exactly been burned off evenly. I doubted that fire really cared about leaving it properly cut.

"I'll get permission to bring you with me to Hogsmeade and cut your hair properly, don't you worry!" Periwinkle offered, trying to smile positively at me. Hermione turned to her, rolling her eyes, and I could tell she was trying hard not to grimace. She _was_ a Slytherin, after all—but then again, so was I.

"No worries!" Fred piped up, and George snickered next to him. "We'll even it out for you, sis." Ron slapped them playfully on their arms, while Periwinkle sniffed a frustrated, "Seriously!"

"I'm quite alright, thank you," I couldn't help but laugh at their insane offer. I felt that I looked terrible enough without their help. As I looked around, I was struck by how many people had shown up to see me! Sure, almost no Slytherins had come, but I wasn't so close to the first years as I was to Periwinkle and, of course, my friends in Gryffindor. Out of all of these people, though, only Harry wasn't joking. I noticed that his arm was sitting awkwardly at his side, and I raised an eyebrow at him quizzically. "Harry, whatever happened to your arm?"

"Nothing!" he said immediately, folding his arms across his stomach. He leaned over me, looking worried. "Ginny, do you…remember…_anything_?"

I shut my eyes, resting my head back on the pillow as I desperately tried to remember everything. Alas, all I could think of was the sudden blazing heat that was following me as I practiced diving, and the terror I'd felt when I finally let go of my broom after deciding that burning to death would be worse than crashing into the field. Flint, I recalled, was looking worried, and Draco…he looked _too_ worried, too out of character. We'd argued again about my friendship with the Gryffindors, and yet he seemed concerned as I dove into the ground, swatting desperately at my head. "Well, it was Quid—"

"Ginny!" a deep voice rumbled, and then I heard feet pounding on the ground, racing towards my bed. I lazily turned my head to see quite an odd sight: Draco and Flint running at us. Rather, Flint was running at us, and he was dragging Draco by his collar. "Merlin, Ginny, you alright?" he panted, as he reached us. Draco, looking flushed, arrived two seconds behind him, huffing as he tried to catch his breath. "We were so worried!"

_Obviously,_ I snapped accusingly in my mind, failing to remember one time they'd come visit me at the infirmary. Then again, I'd been knocked out for…Merlin's beard, how long was I out for? I decided, however, that this was a question for later, and stuck to the matter at hand. "_Were_ you, now?" I was ready to demand, but when I heard the words, they were slightly deeper, raspier, than my own voice. I turned my head and saw that Ron and Harry, along with Fred and George, had drawn out their wands, pointing all four of them towards Flint, whose eyebrows furrowed together.

"Of _course_! She is our substitute player, and very skilled flyer!" he bit back, causing warmth to flood my cheeks. Flint, during all those weeks of practice, had never so much as said "Good job!" to us…yet here he was, complimenting me in front of seven other people, not to mention myself. Harry's eyes narrowed, and he flicked his wrist so that his wand was now pointing at Draco instead.

"Then what's Malfoy doing here?" he spat. The captain turned around in surprise, as if he'd forgotten that Draco was still there. As I heard him being called by his last name, I remembered something, an interaction I'd buried deep within my memories.

"_Oh, and one last thing," he added, his voice colder—if possible—than before. He marched up to me, close enough so that I could have easily spat in his face if I tried, and sneered, "Don't you ever call me Draco again."_

At first I thought it had been because he hadn't liked the name, but now—as I saw someone who was obviously on bad terms with him call him Malfoy instead—I realized it was because I wasn't worthy of calling him Draco…because I wasn't good enough for it. My cheeks blushed even redder, if possible, to the point where I thought, as I looked into the mirror to confirm this, _I must be matching my hair by now!_

"I don't see how it concerns you, _Potter_," Draco retorted icily, drawing his wand as well. Hermione rolled her eyes and reached over, snatching his wand. Then, as Flint turned to her, she grabbed his as well, and pointed them at the remaining Gryffindor boys.

"Ginny _just_ woke up from thirteen hours of bewitched sleep, honestly, all of you!" she squeaked, sounding only slightly intimidated by all the angry scowls directed her way. "If you're going to duel, take it to the bloody corridors and leave her _in peace_!"

I raised my eyebrows, impressed at her outburst. Flint and my brothers eyed each other scornfully, as did Draco and Harry, before they all finally broke their glances and Flint looked to Periwinkle. "It's getting late," he admitted, taking his wand from Hermione's clutch. She nodded, lips pressed together, and turned to me, her hand protectively brushing over my shortened hair. Her eyes and her furrowed eyebrows asked the question that she didn't voice aloud, and I nodded, _You can go._ She smiled and locked her arm with Flint's, walking out of the room.

"Harry, Ron, Fred, George," I said, turning to them with a pleading look in my eyes, "I really need to rest, and it just feels so stuffy in here. Do you think that maybe…" They cocked their heads at me, waiting me to go on, tell them I didn't want them there, even though I knew that they were expecting it. "I want to talk to Hermione alone, please."

Ron glared at Draco accusingly, as the others reluctantly stood up to leave, lingering by the door, waiting for the fourth boy. "What, and _he_ stays?"

"Ron!" Hermione snapped impatiently. "Let Ginny do what she wants, good _Merlin_!"

I could tell, as could she, that he was still not convinced, but he turned around and left slowly anyways. I turned to Draco, chin raised, ready to challenge anything he told me. "So, _Malfoy_," I said disdainfully, "what happened this morning? To me?"

Though I couldn't see her, I just knew Hermione had sat back in her chair, arms crossed with her trademark know-it-all expression on her face. "Yes, Malfoy, what did happen?"

"Since when do you call me Malfoy?" he asked me evasively, not quite meeting my eyes. Hermione huffed, and he let out a defeated sigh as he sat on the chair next to me. "Truthfully, we have no bloody idea. We just saw you, and your hair on fire, about to crash into that blasted field."

I gave him a slight smile, picturing the concerned expression I'd seen on his face when he arrived with Flint, and as I was headed towards the ground. "Worried, were you, Malfoy?"

He sat up indignantly, outraged by my suggestion. "Well, that broomstick was expensive!" he snapped, furious. "I couldn't have a dimwit blood traitor—" Hermione's eyes bulged at the phrase "—crashing it around everywhere just because she didn't know the first thing about flying!"

I leaned my head back, closing my eyes as the picture of his worry popped into my head, behind my closed eyelids. "Of course that is all."

Suddenly, after I opened my eyes, I saw him staring in the direction of the doorway, panicking. His eyes looked desperate, and it seemed almost as if he was pleading with whatever—or whomever—was standing there. But when I turned my head, the doorway was empty. In fact, the entire infirmary was empty, except for Madame Pomfrey, who at the moment was sitting on a vacant bed, chewing on her food, and us.

He sighed, running a hand through his platinum blond hair, and turned back to me, an annoyed expression plastered across his pale complexion. "But," he admitted, defeated, "I _was_ sort of worried that you'd crash and burn. Literally," he added, with a hint of a forced smile on his lips. Hermione pursed her lips at him, raising an eyebrow that he did not fail to see, and he stood up hastily, bid his goodnights, and escaped.

Hermione turned to me quizzically, much in the same way as she'd just been eyeing Draco, and drawled out, "Is there something that I am missing here, Gin? Since when does Malfoy worry about"—she raised her fingers to form air quotes as she said this—"blood traitors?"

I shrugged, the smirk disappearing from my lips as I thought about it. He _was_ behaving rather odd; by what Ron and my other brothers had told me during the summer before that first year at Hogwarts, Draco was not someone to sympathize with, even if, like in my case, we ended up in the same house team. "You heard him," I reasoned halfheartedly, "he was worried about his Nimbus 2001, is all."

Hermione ran this over in her head, nodding slowly as if it all had been explained. "I suppose so…the rich git…" Then she turned to me and managed a small, sympathetic smile. "So, how are you enjoying Slytherin?"

"Honestly?" She nodded encouragingly. "It's not too bad. I still haven't managed to get on Pansy's good side, but I suppose nobody has"—this earned a chuckle on her part—"and some people could be nicer, but…" My voice trailed off, as I lay there, shrugging, because there was no easy way to explain it. I didn't like it all the time, but I was used to it, and not everything bothered me as easily as it used to at first.

"Some people?" she repeated. "Like whom?"

"Well, for starters, Dra—I mean, Malfoy," I corrected myself, blushing but catching the word just in time before it left my lips. Still, she'd noticed.

"Oh Gin, you don't want him to be nicer to you," she told me hurriedly, shaking her head as if what I'd said was absolutely ridiculous. "He's a prat, and if he's nicer to you, then you'll just be nicer to him. And you've heard Ron, hell you've heard all of us, go on about how he is!"

"I know," I told her quietly, still trying to remember his concerned face. I was starting to think, maybe he wasn't _that_ bad. Though he denied it, I could kind of tell that he'd been worried a bit more about me than just about the broomstick. I got the feeling, suddenly, that maybe he didn't want to keep being enemies. Maybe he'd eventually consider me to be his…friend. "It's just that he seemed kind of worried for me." Hermione remained quiet, but a pained expression reached her eyes. "I mean, didn't he?"

"I guess, but—" she began hesitantly.

"And I know that he isn't nice to you, but it's just a Slytherin-slash-Gryffindor rivalry. I'm sure that, if you had been placed into Slytherin too, he wouldn't be so bad!" I sighed, exasperated, at the worried look on her face. "Hermione, I know what I am doing. You must give him another chance. Just because he's in Slytherin doesn't mean he's all that bad!" Even as I said it, I realized that maybe the same prejudice was being applied to me!

"Look, Ginny," she began apologetically, leaning forward in her seat, "I'm all for house unity. I'm just saying, maybe socializing with a Slyth—"

"See, _this_ is what I mean!" I accused, angrily. 'House unity?' 'Socializing with a Slytherin?' The way she began to say it, I could tell she thought it was some awful disease! I was a Slytherin, too! What kind of bloody house unity was _that_? And _socializing with a Slytherin_? Were all Slytherins supposed to be boastful gits? "_Listen_ to yourself! I socialize with him, because he is _in my house team_! I'm a Slytherin too!" Hermione had gone visibly pale as, I assume, she noticed her mistake. "And I'm perfectly capable of making my own friends! Merlin, I'm all for house unity too, but I don't think we can do anything until you _Gryffindors_"—Hermione let out an insulted gasp, but I didn't let that falter my long-awaited speech—"drop your assumptions about us Slytherins!"

We both sat for a few minutes silently fuming over our discussion. I tried my hardest not to look at her, at the girl I'd practically considered my sister since the beginning of the year. But I was just so angry! All her talk about house unity, and she still couldn't stop judging Slytherins! Sure, maybe she only meant that Draco was being a prick, but she'd almost said that socializing with a Slytherin—any Slytherin, from the way she'd began to speak—would be unwise!

"Well," she said quietly, eyes downcast as she stood up and gathered her books, which had been on the side of my bed the whole time, "I have nothing more to do here."

"No, you don't," I agreed sadly, glaring pointedly at my feet as she sniffed and walked away. Then, when I was sure she was gone, I reached over for the small brass bell on the night table and rang it twice, signaling—as I'd been told during orientation—for Madame Pomfrey to come to me.

"Could you turn the lights out?" I asked in a small voice, pulling the covers up to my newly 'trimmed' hair. "I want to sleep."

"Of course, my dear," she nodded, flustered, setting the bell back on the table for me. She stared at the doorway until I shifted in the bed. She then turned to me, head tilted slightly to the side. "Say, wasn't that Hermione Granger, from—"

"Gryffindor," I breathed in a low voice. Madame Pomfrey turned to me delighted, a twinkle in her eyes.

"Merlin, could it be that this bloody rivalry between both houses is disippating?" she mused to herself cheerfully. I raised an eyebrow at her, and she blushed sheepishly. "I mean, the tension between you two is practically palpable!" She continued to mumble to herself as she reached over for her wand, to simultaneously blow out all the candles in the infirmary.

"Don't I know it," I muttered to myself, just as a _whoosh_ darkened the room.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, it is I, again. Ginny and Hermione are one of my favorite friendships in the series, and this chapter was honestly tough for me to write. Now, there was one point in Hermione's argument with Ginny that I want to address, and that is this: Ginny says at one point that, had Hermione been put into Slytherin, she wouldn't have been treated that way. She doesn't know at this point that Draco hates 'mudbloods' and that Draco wouldn't like her either way. Just to clear that up, before people say I deviated from the story on that account.**

**Anyways, I would just love, love, love your reviews because they make my day (preferably constructive, rather than just a jumble of grammatical errors, please) for this chapter! And thank you all for keeping up with my random ramblings of a story! **

**Love,**

**TGBW**

**[edit] Some of you guys might have been confused because I wrote Hermione in a slot where it should've been Ginny (honestly I ship Dramione) so I just changed it... my apologies! **


	6. Vulnerable

"Why the sad face, Ginger?" sneered a voice from behind me. Startled, I turned away from the common room fire, before which I'd been splaying my hands out at a careful distance to keep myself warm. I was freezing, as autumn finally began to take its proper toll, and not even my newfound phobia of fire could keep me turning blue under my blankets. Of course, the platinum blond Slytherin was standing in the direction of the voice, arms crossed over his chest defensively.

"Why do _you_ care, _Malfoy_?" I snapped pointedly, making sure he took note of my using his last name instead. I'd had enough of his taunting—add to that my recent row with Hermione, and I might as well just throw myself a pity party. "Last time I checked, the only reason you'd ever display any kind of human emotion would be if your precious brooms were in danger."

He feigned insult, gripping his chest with one hand and gasping outrageously. "My, my, miss Weasley, _someone_'s apparated on the wrong side of the bed," he nagged, walking around me. "And besides, I can't have you riding my brooms in such a distraught manner, so might as well make you snap out of it!" He flickered his wrist, calling out "_Incendio_!" and I flinched automatically, just waiting for the burning sensation to return to my neck. Nothing happened, except that the fire became bigger.

"How oddly sensitive of you," I noticed with an approving, yet suspicious, nod of my head, turning back to face the fire. I tried not to grimace as he sat next to me on the floor, our backs leaning against the tea table in the center. I brought my hands into my robes, fearful of Draco's sudden control over the flames, and allowed one to circle around my wand.

As if he could sense my precautions, he rolled his eyes, leaning his head back in exasperation. "You can_not_ seriously be that daft, even for a first year!" he cried out, annoyed. "I'm not allowed to do anything to you, which, _mind_, is why I _didn't do anything to you._"

As if somebody had taken a photograph of the Quidditch private session in which my hair had been nearly all burned off, my mind began to replay the scene, finally recalling the moment in which my eyes began to water and my nose filled with the stench of smoke, flames engulfing my already fiery red hair. I must admit, I'd chosen to try and not think about whose responsibility it had been. Firstly, being a first year, I knew the issue was already being exaggerated to ludicrous tales of dragons attacking me in midair, or that my mother was some unknown creature and this was her magical ability.

Also, I knew that if I decided that this should be blamed on someone, just anyone, I would end up tormenting my mind with fear of everyone in Hogwarts at that moment.

Instead, I'd decided to forget it; in fact, just the next morning, Periwinkle had gotten permission from Snape to bring me along with her—under his immediate supervision, naturally—to have my hair evened out. No, I hadn't taken Fred and George up on their offer to do it themselves for free.

"I don't blame you, you know," I muttered, averting my eyes both from him and from the flame, choosing to study the tapestry. It had been enchanted to shift from a green and silver portrait of Salazar Slytherin, to a writhing, fanged emerald green snake, whose very realistic tongue was busy trying to reach the flames. "I _should_, but I don't."

"Good, because it wasn't me!" he retorted. I had no idea why he was snapping so much! It was just as his fault as mine that everyone believed him to be the culprit, because honestly I'd just openly refused to comment on it. By that day, less than a week since the incident, everyone was aware that something had happened on the field. They needed only glance at me to prove it to be true.

I was sick of his constant negative attitude that, for some unknown reason, always seemed to be directed right at me! "I really am fine," I grunted, as Salazar raised an eyebrow at me before morphing back into a terrifying snake. "And we're only a year apart. You need not babysit me, Malfoy."

"Okay," he said through gritted teeth, "just _stop_ calling me Malfoy!"

My eyes widened with a start. What was it he was asking from me? Just a few weeks ago, he'd ordered me to never call him Draco, and now he was asking me to stop calling him Malfoy? Surely he did not have another name, or an alias for me to call him by? "Too unworthy to mention you at all, am I?" I demanded hotly, getting up on my feet.

He saw my agitation and stood up as well, drawing out his wand before he realized it. As soon as his eyes landed on his outstretched arm, the tip of his wand pointed between my eyes, he lowered it and hid it back in his pocket. "Don't say it with so much hatred! You _owe_ me, you filthy blood traitor! Do you have any idea of who was the person that had to fetch Madame Pomfrey to extinguish your sorry arse?" I gaped at him, my mouth slightly open as it became suddenly dry with the realization. _Draco_ had essentially saved me? _What_ was this bloody world coming to? "That's right, _I did_!" he shouted right in my face. When he saw my expression, so overwhelmed with terror, he backed away a step or two, smirking. "So let me know, _Weasel_, when you want to thank me."

With that, he began to walk away, glancing back a few steps closer to the door as he wiped the corner of his mouth with his finger. "Oh, and feel free to throw in an apology somewhere."

He shut the door to the common room quite loudly, causing the tapestry snake to recoil in alarm. I tentatively walked over and placed my hand on its scaly head, which remarkably _did_ actually feel kind of reptilian, to calm it down. It looked at me, its black beady eyes curious as to whom was caring for him, before I felt the snakeskin become hair and it transformed back into a puzzled Salazar.

"_You never did answer the boy's question, you know._"

I jumped back in surprise, pulling out my wand from the depths of fabric and directing it everywhere. Did we have an enchanted chair? Had Periwinkle told me anything about a sneaky ghost hanging around inside—oh.

"You!" I shrieked, swiveling around to find the Bloody Baron, our apparent house ghost, lounging carelessly on our couch. "Bloody Merlin, you—"

"_Tsk, tsk,"_ he clicked his tongue condescendingly, throwing his two wispy, stubby legs over the arm of the seat. "_That is no way to speak to your elders, now is it?_"

I nervously backed up into the tapestry, wincing as I felt the points of the fangs on either side of my neck. "I only respect the liv—gahh!" An inexplicable feeling of dread and coldness swept through me, taking away all the warmth I'd been sensing from the fire and the blankets over my shoulders. I gasped sharply as the Bloody Baron rematerialized on the other side of me, acting as nonchalant as if he'd merely taken a step—which, being a ghost, was probably all he needed to do. "Stop that!"

"_Show some respect, you insolent little first year!_" he shouted aggressively, his chains clashing together as he hustled to where I stood, pausing shortly in front of me, close enough for me to feel his cool, ghostly breath on my face. "_Now, answer my question, or I swear I'll_—"

"All right, all right!" I cried, shutting my eyes and trying to ignore the fact that we were spitting distance apart. I wasn't really in the mood of hearing what kind of torture the dead could inflict upon the living, so I curled up against the table, too keenly aware of the fact that, as he was standing by me, he had the upper hand, and told him about my troubles with Hermione. By the end of my story, he had a dazed expression in his eyes, looking unfocused and distant.

"_Too stubborn for her own good…_" he muttered under his breath, looking at a spot over in the fire, but almost as if he were staring straight through the bricks behind the flames. "_Being so clever, you'd expect her to understand that people change…_"

"Exactly!" I exclaimed, remarkably surprised that he'd understood my feelings at all. "Merlin, Bloody Baron, you're not as bad as—wait, where are you going?"

"_What—oh,_" he stuttered, practically tripping over himself as he stumbled to get out of the room. I decided against pointing out that he could float, instead choosing to watch, puzzled, as he attempted to leave. His eyes had lost that thoughtful look, and he seemed all too sharp on his surroundings. "_I must be going…Peeves surely acting up again…_" He continued his low muttering all the way until he was out of the dungeons, leaving me to puzzle over the meaning of his suddenly urgent escapade. As much as it pained for me to admit it, he was right. Hermione was one of my closest friends! Surely she would come around her stubbornness and we would be friends again!

Suddenly, I heard a loud snicker from behind the doors, and they burst open, revealing Draco and some dark-skinned, tall, slender boy in tow. A high-pitched squeal of laughter not far behind revealed Pansy Parkinson following suit like a loyal pug. Draco and his crowd came to a halt when they spotted me, but Parkinson squeaked out in a mocking voice between giggling fits, "Aww, does ickle Ginger Weasel miss her fwends in Gryffindor?"

"Eavesdropping, were we?" I answered smoothly, fighting to keep a calm expression. _Great!_ I thought sarcastically, groaning in my mind. _Just give them another reason to bug me, why don't we?_

"It's _our_ common room, you filthy—" began the second boy, scowling at me and, no doubt, my audacity to use that tone with them.

"Yes, yes, filthy blood traitor," I droned out monotonously, feigning boredom with the old insult when in reality I felt my face deepen into a harsh blush. "Come back to me when you have a better comeback, will you?"

Parkinson's eyes bulged dangerously as she turned from myself to Draco and the other boy. "Well?" she screeched angrily. "Is she just going to talk to us like that?"

I watched Draco look at his friends, then back at me, as if he were asking both sides for their permission to punish me for my insolence. "She's a first year, girl, fresh out of the infirmary," he muttered finally, casting me a disdainful glance. Before either of them could voice their protests, he turned to them, eyeing them up and down. "If either of you touch her, I'll make sure everyone knows how you attacked a defenseless…_spineless_ blood traitor recovering from an injury." Both the boy and Parkinson immediately shut their mouths, and followed Draco further down into the dungeons.

I returned my gaze into the fire, trying to regain some of the warmth that the Bloody Baron had stolen from me, when I heard a whisper from across the common room.

"I'll be waiting for your 'thank you's, then."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_**Character introduction!**_** I'm glad to welcome the Bloody Baron and Blaise Zabini into the scene, at last! I would make this chapter longer, but it is almost two in the morning and I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open at the moment.**

**As always, thanks a ton for your reviews! They are great motivators, especially for Draco's POV. I'm kind of reaching for…hmm…six more reviews for the next chapter (which, yes, is going to be Draco's POV).**

**I love you all! **

**TGBW**

**P.S. I'm thinking about starting yet another fanfic (I know, I can't seem to finish anything!) but this one will be a Dramione/Veela fanfiction…with a twist. (Hint: some animals don't mate for life. Just saying.) If you don't feel like reviewing for this chapter, then simply review for this idea! I'd love to hear your opinions on this, and I'll accept PMs about it as well. I haven't begun it yet, just thinking about it for now. (:**


	7. Author's Note

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**I know, I know, I know, bad goofybookworm! I have been ignoring this website for like two months! BUT I HAVE MY REASON.**

**In English class, we were all forced to participate in NaNoWriMo. The good news is, I am one of the few that actually like writing, and so I managed to get a total of 50,083 words, meaning I will most likely receive 5 printed copies! (: The bad news is, I have been thoroughly neglecting everything else, including my fanfictions. I will try as hard as possible to have one new chapter out for ****_each_**** story before Christmas, but I make no promises!**

**Thank you for your reviews, I love you all so much! You keep me smiling (: **

**Love you guys! **

**-TGBW**


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